


Buddy Breathing

by Colourofsaying



Category: due South
Genre: Episode Related, M/M, buddybreathing, fraser lies like a lying liar, when we were young
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-09
Updated: 2011-04-09
Packaged: 2017-10-17 20:02:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Colourofsaying/pseuds/Colourofsaying
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Buddy breathing.” Of course Ray was shouting over the noise of the sinking ship and the slosh of water, but he sounded unnecessarily skeptical.<br/>“Standard procedure.” That’s what they’d always said, he and Mark. Practicing for his duties as a Mountie, because you never knew when you’d need to give a drowning person air. Like CPR. Standard procedure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Buddy Breathing

            Ray, ever focused on the essential, had not even finished shaking the water from his face and gasping before he was talking.

            “What was that, Fraser?”

            “What was what?” Fraser was not unaware of the aim of his question, but clarity of speech was often of aid in one’s personal and professional life. It would not do Ray any harm to practice it. There were other reasons, of course, things like frustration and betrayal and a tiny spark of panic because that question. There was only one way to answer it, really.

            “That thing you were doing with your mouth.” Ray was staring at him, now.

            “Oh, that. That’s buddy breathing. You seemed to be in a bit of a, well, having a problem. I have excess lung capacity, so. . .” He turned away. Exit, exit – the current predicament. That was far more important.

            “Buddy breathing.” Of course Ray was shouting over the noise of the sinking ship and the slosh of water, but he sounded unnecessarily skeptical.

            “Standard procedure.” That’s what they’d always said, he and Mark. Practicing for his duties as a Mountie, because you never knew when you’d need to give a drowning person air. Like CPR. Standard procedure.

 

            Mark’s parents were the best, he remembered thinking. That summer was the first time Ben had ever spent an entire day in the water – it was too cold, at home. In and out. An hour at most, but he’d done that once and his grandmother had scolded him for half an hour while he sat shivering and blue-lipped next to the woodstove. He’d had a sore throat the next day, too. But he’d already spent a whole day in the water and on the water, on the raft he and Mark had made the first day there. Every morning they loaded it with provisions and pushed off into the lake. He hadn’t noticed the sunburn until he was back in Inuvik and his grandparents handed him a book about skin cancer and a tin of burn salve.

            They’d only been there a few days when Mark had his idea, and the long summer stretched before them as they lay draped across the rough limbs of their raft.

            Ben trailed his fingers in the water, and watched the way it swirled. The sun seeped under his skin, loosened his muscles. He stretched a little, turned to look at Mark. Stopped. Mark had that smile, the one with the spark in his eyes that said ‘I have an idea and it will be wonderful’. The smile that said Mark knew Ben would need convincing. He usually did. It usually worked. He waited to hear about this new plan, but Mark sat up and said,

            “Bring me air.” And then he dove down, down into the lake until Ben could barely see the light refracting from his child-yellow hair. Ben sat on the raft for a minute, thinking. What did that mean, bring air? And then he got it, and he took a deep breath and dove down.

            Once he found Mark, it took a little while to figure out how to transfer the air. They’d discovered long ago that Ben always, always won breath-holding competitions, so that was probably how Mark had thought of it. He’d never had to pass it on before, though. The logistics were difficult – obviously it went in at the mouth, but what about the angles? How to keep the air from escaping? Ben was afraid that quite a lot of air disappeared in rising sparkles towards the light before he managed to seal his mouth properly to Mark’s and give him the breath from his lungs. Mark’s eyes were wide and strange across the drift of sun-seen particles in the water.

            Task accomplished, Ben rose to the surface. A few seconds later, Mark was wiping the hair out of his face and laughing breathlessly beside him. Ben was startled by a sudden memory of the feel of Mark’s mouth under his, but didn’t have time to wonder what exactly this was about before Mark was gasping words like fantastic and awesome, and how long could he stay under water if Ben brought him air repeatedly, and if someone was drowning when Ben’s a Mountie he’ll know what to do, he’ll be the best Mountie ever, better than anyone. Legendary. They’ll tell stories about him for years. Mark didn’t say that he’ll be a better Mountie than his father. It’s what he meant.

            So Ben brought Mark lung after lung of air, under the water. Became familiar with the softness of his lips, the curve of his mouth, the hardness of his teeth. Learnt the feel of Mark’s head in his hands as he cradled it to tilt Mark’s face to the optimal angle for the transfer of air. It only took him a few days to realize it was kissing. He didn’t mention it. His mouth was kissing like it knew what it was doing beforehand, anyway. When he brought Mark the next breath of air, it was the same as it was before except now Mark’s hand on the skin of his back sent shivers cascading down his spine and he was conscious as he had not been before of the fullness of Mark’s lips against his, the pull of them. Mark’s eyes, through the water, were questioning. Ben wondered if, when they surfaced this time, they would kiss above the water. They never did.

            The entire summer, they practiced. Under the water, it was deception and not – their legs tangled, and their chests pressed together. So much skin, such richness. Ben had never seen so much of another person before, certainly never touched it. He wondered what it would be like above the water, what the chilly curve of shoulder and the straight pale lines of collarbone would feel like warmed by the sun. Under the water, the seal was broken, and they passed the air between them with caresses, nips, licks.

            Above the water, it was procedure. Dreams about the future, how Mark will be the greatest hockey player Canada has ever seen and win the championships and have his face on cards, and neither of them talked about how he wants ‘that Smithbauer boy’ forgotten, but it’s behind every word. Ben didn’t say he’d miss the blond boy beside him when Mark is the greatest hockey player in Canada, and Mark didn’t say he’d miss Ben when he’s Fraser in a uniform and a hat and solves the most difficult crimes in the world.

            Nothing changed, above the water. Under the water, under the skin, everything was different. Ben knew enough to know that there was a reason for this, but he didn’t know enough to know why Mark waited, why it’s only under the water that they could do this. He’d ask, but he never asked anything of Mark, and in return Mark laid an engendering hand on the long winters’ darkness and endless books of Ben’s existence.

 

          “Good. . . Okay. . . All right. . .” Fraser faced Ray, who was once again gesturing in a mysterious but strangely comprehensible way. “Nothing's, like, changed or anything, right?”

          “No.” They’re above the water now, and Fraser is not Ben. Things have changed, but only under the water. Only for Ben. He wondered if there was another Ray, like Fraser was Ben sometimes.

          “Okay.” And it wasn’t, not for Ray, because Ray was always himself no matter what name he went by or what role he assumed. Fraser had often wondered why the authorities would choose such a man, such a separate and unmistakable, such a completely personable man, for undercover work – why they had chosen him to provide the illusion of presence for Ray. It was clearly not a question of resemblance, for there was none, or response to the name of Ray, because Ray treated names like clay, things to be shaped and molded to situation. Context.

          If the context that differentiated Fraser and Ben was at the heart of things as illusory as any distinction Ray might draw between Rays – but no. The distinction existed, for Fraser and Ben, for Ray-below-water and Ray-above-water. He found himself considering the possibility of other, comparable distinctions.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to masterofmidgets for the beta!


End file.
